I ran into a classmate at the mall the other day. It is always so refreshing to see people that you went to school with grown and doing well. I saw Rhonda and her beautiful daughter. I found out that Rhonda and I had more things in common than just high school classmates, we were both children of Policemen. Her Dad and my Dad worked together as partners from time to time fighting crime. My Father served thirty-two years and her Dad served twenty before going to Heaven.
Growing up as a Cop’s kid was different than growing up as a plumbers kid, I’m sure. One is no greater than the other and both are truly valuable to the success of life in the hood. I just wanted to see what would result in Rhonda and I comparing notes on being Cop’s kids. I, like Rhonda, probably have other siblings who can tell a story much different than ours, but this is the benefit of having your own blog. In short, get your own.
I only actually know of two other boys (Keith and Mike) who had fathers that were Policemen, but Rhonda is the only female. I am willing to bet, having a Cop as a father could change a few things for a teenage girl. We will see what Rhonda says. As a boy, if your Dad was a cop, He was the man. He was six feet and three inches with muscles already, now give him a mustache, a badge, a gun, some handcuffs, some bullets, a car with lights that can run intersection lights, and we officially have a party going on!! I often had dreams of speeding through the city, with the siren blaring, blasting my pistols, kicking in doors and saving innocent people! Let’s not get into that or my fear of jail cells!! I keep my counselor pretty busy already.
I remember the day he came home with the police motorcycle with the leather boots and helmet!! This took things to another level!! Evel Knievel was out at that time too? He is thinking about another day at work, I’m thinking, he can at least get six car jumps on this thing.
As a little girl Rhonda said, “It always made me smile. He loved his job. I heard stories everyday and I was intrigued. I thought he was a “tough” guy. I felt protected.”
This is a distinct difference in how boys and girls see things. A girl feels protected, while a boy is thinking, “How many robbers did he throw in the slammer?” Rhonda is asking, “How was your day? I’m asking, “Did you get that thing up past one hundred Copper?”
We wanted to share at least one perk and problem with being Cop’s kids and I hope you enjoy.
A great memory I have and still enjoy is knowing that my Dad helped so many people. People still walk up and ask me about my Dad. That question is always followed by appreciation for either a pass, some help in an emergency, a kick in the butt, or a word of encouragement. All cops are not bad cops!! You reap what you sow. I continue to reap from my Dad’s seeds of kindness.
A bad memory was always a fear of him being killed in the line of duty. Plumbers don’t have this problem. I remember looking at his bullet proof vest one day and there was a bullet lodged in it. I don’t remember talking about it, nor the scars and bruises we would see from time to time on his hands. I would stay awake at night until I heard him come in from his shift at 1am. When he would come in and check on me, I knew I could fall asleep.
Rhonda said, “A good memory was, “Seeing the pride he had in his work and I loved riding in his police car. He would introduce me to people in the community. I remember people telling me that I had a good father. He was very protective of his children. That was good, but when you are a teenage girl, it would get on my nerves.”
The bad memories would be, noticing the stress on his face when he would get a call on the radio. The worst memory was the night he died. He was found on the back porch. It was ironic, he had his uniform on. Something he loved so much.
I want to thank Rhonda for sharing, our Dads, Good Policeman and Families everywhere.